Reading Chapter Eight: The Deathday Party
October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup potion worked instantly,
"It always does," Mrs. Weasley said, having had to prepare it several times for her children over the years.
though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Ginny Weasley, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy.
As much as they wanted to, Fred and George didn't glare at their brother. After all, back then, he had been worried about his family. He hadn't thrown them away yet.
The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire.
"Oh gee, thanks." Ginny mumbled, aiming to be sarcastic, but she was too worried to achieve it. Harry reached for her hand and squeezed it before he realized what he was doing. Luckily, Ron was focusing more on his growling stomach.
Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Oliver Wood's enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harry was to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud.
"I can't believe he made you practice in those conditions!" Hermione said, shaking her head.
"Well that was Oliver for you," Harry said wisely trying to placate her.
"Yeah, I feel sorry for Puddlemere though," Ron said and the twins laughed.
"Shame he didn't go to the Canons eh Ron? Maybe he could have picked them up a bit," Fred teased.
Even aside from the rain and wind it hadn't been a happy practice session. Fred and George, who had been spying on the Slytherin team, had seen for themselves the speed of those new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones.
"So even though he was mad that the Slytherins were spying, he sent you to spy on them?" Remus asked, slightly amused. He knew that Wood had been enthusiastic about Quidditch, but this was fanatic!
"Pretty much," George nodded happily.
They reported that the Slytherin team was no more than seven greenish blurs, shooting through the air like missiles. As Harry squelched along the deserted corridor he came across somebody who looked just as preoccupied as he was. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath, "...don't fulfill their requirements... half an inch, if that..."
"He got rejected for the Headless Hunt again then?" Rmeus asked Harry who nodded.
"He really should let that go, I mean, he's probably the only nearly headless ghost!" Ron said and people stared at him. "What?"
"Nothing mate, we just didn't know you could be so…supportive?" Harry said, searching for the right word.
"Hello, Nick," said Harry.
"Hello, hello," said Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking round. He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as smoke, and Harry could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside.
"You look troubled, young Potter," said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet.
"So do you," said Harry.
"Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no importance... It's not as though I really wanted to join... Thought I'd apply, but apparently I don't fulfill requirements'-"
"How many years d'you reckon he's been applying?" George wondered and Remus shrugged.
"He was when I went to school."
"Us as well," Mr. Weasley said.
"As far as I know, Nicholas has been trying for the Hunt for every year since he became a ghost," Dumbledore said, ending the conversation so that Neville could continue.
In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face.
"But you would think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?"
"Someone's bitter," Luna said airily.
"Oh - yes," said Harry, who was obviously supposed to agree.
"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However -" Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously:
"We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.'"
Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away.
"Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry! Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh, no, it's not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore."
"Properly Decapitated-Podmore?" Fred repeated, shaking his head.
"Well he is centuries old," George pointed out.
"Fine. We'll let that one slide."
Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, "So - what's bothering you? Anything I can do?"
"No," said Harry. "Not unless you know where we can get seven free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly-"
The rest of Harry's sentence was drowned out by a high-pitched mewling from somewhere near his ankles. He looked down and found himself gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against students.
"You'd better get out of here, Harry," said Nick quickly. "Filch isn't in a good mood - he's got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five.
"How did they manage that?" Luna wondered in an airy tone and with her faraway look, Harry reasoned that she was envisioning exactly how it had happened.
He's been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place-"
"Right," said Harry, backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs. Norris, but not quickly enough. Drawn to the spot by the mysterious power that seemed to connect him with his foul cat, Argus Filch burst suddenly through a tapestry to Harry's right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rule-breaker. There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose was unusually purple.
"Urgh, bad image Harry," Neville interrupted himself as he wrinkled his nose.
"Filth!" he shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped from Harry's Quidditch robes. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potter!"
So Harry waved a gloomy good-bye to Nearly Headless Nick and followed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on the floor. Harry had never been inside Filch's office before; it was a place most students avoided.
"Oh yeah, you two were in there in your first year weren't you?" Harry asked innocently.
"Yup and that turned out to be the best visit ever didn't it Gred?"
"Sure did Forge."
Remus was looking at the twins with a slight smile on his face. He never found out how Harry had gotten the Map from Filch, but he should have guessed that the twins had gotten to it first.
The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels, Harry could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves.
"Really? A drawer for the both of you?" Ginny asked, her tone both impressed and serious.
"Oh, I'm sure its gotten bigger since then," Fred said waving a carefree hand.
"But it's when you have a draw to yourself, that's when you make history," Remus said smirking.
"Oh? And how would you know?" George asked as both he and Fred leaned forward. Remus shrugged.
"I had a whole drawer to myself by sixth year. By seventh, Filch had to clean it out and start over."
While Fred and George ogled at the man, Remus turned to Harry. "And before you ask, your father had two drawers and easily twice the amount of detentions I ever got. And if you want to know how many, just ask McGonagall, she kept track."
"You did?" Harry asked his professor who had a reminiscent smile on her face.
"Yes I did. Your father amounted almost three hundred before I gave up."
A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch's desk. It was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling.
"Which will never happen as long as I am Headmaster." Dumbledore said firmly but in her mind, Umbridge privately thought that that wouldn't be for much longer.
Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment.
"Dung," he muttered furiously, "great sizzling dragon bogies... frog brains... rat intestines...
Harry and Ron exchanged dark looks at that while Remus merely glared at the book.
I've had enough of it... make an example... where's the form... yes..."
He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot.
"Name... Harry Potter. Crime..."
"It was only a bit of mud!" said Harry.
"It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra hour scrubbing!" shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose. "Crime... befouling the castle...
"That's a new one," Fred remarked in surprise.
Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry who waited with bated breath for his sentence to fall.
But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of the office, which made the oil lamp rattle.
"What was that?" Ginny asked fearfully.
"Well if you'd let Neville continue Gin, I'm sure you'll find out." Harry teased lightly.
"PEEVES!" Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a transport of rage. "I'll have you this time, I'll have you!"
And without a backward glance at Harry, Filch ran flat-footed from the office, Mrs. Norris streaking alongside him.
Peeves was the school poltergeist, a grinning, airborne menace who lived to cause havoc and distress. Harry didn't much like Peeves,
"No one really does," George shrugged. "He's helpful sometimes though."
but couldn't help feeling grateful for his timing. Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done (and it sounded as though he'd wrecked something very big this time) would distract Filch from Harry.
Thinking that he should probably wait for Filch to come back,
"Why didn't you run for it?" Ron asked and Harry shrugged.
"I figured I'd just get in more trouble when he saw me next."
Harry sank into a moth-eaten chair next to the desk. There was only one thing on it apart from his half-completed form: a large, glossy, purple envelope with silver lettering on the front. With a quick glance at the door to check that Filch wasn't on his way back, Harry picked up the envelope and read:
A Correspondence Course in Beginners' Magic.
Mr. Weasley shook his head. "Unfortunately, those never work, it's a just a scam."
Intrigued, Harry flicked the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said:
Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork?
"Well we already knew Filch was useless," Fred stage whispered to George.
"But now we have proof!" George whispered back, both grinning like mad. It was almost a relief for the rest knowing that they wouldn't be back next year, armed with this knowledge.
There is an answer!
Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course. Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell method!Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes:
"I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the center of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!"Warlock D. J. Prod of Didsbury says:
"My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms, but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course and I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!"
Fascinated, Harry thumbed through the rest of the envelope's contents. Why on earth did Filch want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean he wasn't a proper wizard? Harry was just reading "Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some Useful Tips)" when shuffling footsteps outside told him Filch was coming back. Stuffing the parchment back into the envelope, Harry threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened.
Filch was looking triumphant.
"That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!"
At this Fred and George exchanged glances, paling ever so slightly. Wasn't that the cabinet that they pushed Montague into?
he was saying gleefully to Mrs. Norris. "We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet-"
His eyes fell on Harry and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope, which, Harry realized too late, was lying two feet away from where it had started.
"Now you're in trouble." Luna said airily.
Filch's pasty face went brick red. Harry braced himself for a tidal wave of fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope, and threw it into a drawer.
"Have you - did you read -?" he sputtered.
"No," Harry lied quickly.
Filch's knobbly hands were twisting together.
"If I thought you'd read my private -not that it's mine - for a friend - be that as it may - however-"
Harry was staring at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks, and the tartan scarf didn't help.
"Really Harry must you be so observant?" Fred and George asked, wearing identical masks of revulsion.
"Very well - go - and don't breathe a word - not that - however, if you didn't read - go now, I have to write up Peeves' report - go-"
Amazed at his luck, Harry sped out of the office, up the corridor, and back upstairs. To escape from Filch's office without punishment was probably some kind of school record.
"Harry! Harry! Did it work?"
"Wait! Nick did that!"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Read on Neville, and ignore those two."
Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, Harry could see the wreckage of a large black-and-gold cabinet that appeared to have been dropped from a great height.
"I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch's office," said Nick eagerly. "Thought it might distract him-"
"How have we not known that our own ghost was a prankster?" George cried and mock fainted and Fred fanned him to get him to wake up. Neville, taking Harry's advice, kept reading over the twin's antics, though he was chuckling himself.
"Was that you?" said Harry gratefully. "Yeah, it worked, I didn't even get detention. Thanks, Nick!"
[*They set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Harry noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick's rejection letter...
"I wish there was something I could do for you about the Headless Hunt," Harry said. Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and Harry walked right through him.
Everyone winced sympathetically, having done something similar to that at some point.
He wished he hadn't; it was like stepping through an icy shower.
"But there is something you could do for me," said Nick excitedly. "Harry - would I be asking too much - but no, you wouldn't want-"
"What is it?" said Harry.
"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," said Nearly Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.
"Oh," said Harry, not sure whether he should look sorry or happy about this. "Right."
"I don't think there is a proper way to act in that situation," Hermione mused thoughtfully.
"I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you would attend. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger would be most welcome, too, of course - but I daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?" He watched Harry on tenterhooks.
"Well it's not like I was going to say no after that!" Harry groaned at looks questioning his sanity. "He guilt tripped me!"
"No," said Harry quickly, "I'll come-"
"My dear boy! Harry Potter, at my deathday party! And -" he hesitated, looking excited "- do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?"
"Oh sure, cause Nick is really frightening. Next to the Fat Friar, he's probably the friendliest ghost," George, having just been 'revived' spoke up.
"Of - of course," said Harry.
Nearly Headless Nick beamed at him.
"A deathday party?" said Hermione keenly when Harry had changed at last and joined her and Ron in the common room. "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of those - it'll be fascinating!"
"Still think that?" Ron teased and Hermione shook her head.
"Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" said Ron, who was halfway through his Potions homework and grumpy. "Sounds dead depressing to me..."
"Err no pun intended," Ron said, having just realized the joke after Fred and George laughed.
Rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but inside all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework or, in the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander.
"Nothing good I'd imagine," Remus commented as Luna looked outraged at the salamander's treatment.
Fred had "rescued" the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now smouldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people.
Harry was at the point of telling Ron and Hermione about Filch and the Kwikspell course when the salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly round the room. The sight of Percy bellowing himself hoarse at Fred and George, the spectacular display of tangerine stars showering from the salamander's mouth, and its escape into the fire, with accompanying explosions, drove both Filch and the Kwikspell envelope from Harry's mind.
"Never mind," Remus said. "That was brilliant!"
"Marauder worthy?" Harry whispered to Remus who snorted.
"Not even close, but I'll give them points on originality."
By the time Halloween arrived, Harry was regretting his rash promise to go to the deathday party. The rest of the school was happily anticipating their Halloween feast; the Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid's vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, and there were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment.
"No there weren't…" Fred said downcast.
"Maybe next year sir?" George asked eagerly.
"Unless I am mistaken Mr. Weasley, you and your brother won't be returning to the castle next year." Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling at the disappointed faces of the twins.
"A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded Harry bossily. "You said you'd go to the deathday party."
So at seven o'clock, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed their steps instead toward the dungeons.
The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined with candles, too, though the effect was far from cheerful: These were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step they took. As Harry shivered and drew his robes tightly around him, he heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.
Remus winced just at the thought. He could remember all too well one time James had done that, before they knew his secret.
"Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered. They turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.
"My dear friends," he said mournfully. "Welcome, welcome... so pleased you could come..."
"I still don't know, are you supposed to be happy at a deathday party?" Ron asked and no one had an answer for him.
He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside.
It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles.
"That does sound rather interesting," Luna admitted. "At least, the chandelier bit."
Their breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.
"Shall we have a look around?" Harry suggested, wanting to warm up his feet.
"Careful not to walk through anyone," said Ron nervously, and they set off around the edge of the dance floor. They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Harry wasn't surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts.
"Oh, no," said Hermione, stopping abruptly. "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle-"
Most of the women in the room nodded at that, having at least one experience with Myrtle at some point.
"Who?" said Harry as they backtracked quickly.
"She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor," said Hermione.
"She haunts a toilet?"
"Yes. It's been out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it's awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you-"
"Look, food!" said Ron.
"I don't think you want to eat food in a party full of ghosts Ron," Ginny said, speaking quietly. Those that knew what was troubling her didn't make a comment, and Harry gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. They approached it eagerly but next moment had stopped in their tracks, horrified. The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mold and, in pride of place, an enormous gray cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words,
SIR NICHOLAS DE MIMSY-PORPINGTON
DIED 31ST OCTOBER, 1492
"Wasn't that when Columbus sailed?" Hermione asked, forgetting that in the wizarding world, Columbus wasn't that famous, or even heard of in some cases. Seeing the looks and realizing her mistake, she quickly said "Never mind," and gestured for Neville to continue.
Harry watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.
"Can you taste it if you walk though it?" Harry asked him.
"Almost," said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away.
"I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavor," said Hermione knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis.
"Just ew." The twins said pulling faces.
"Can we move? I feel sick," said Ron.
They had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before them.
"Hello, Peeves," said Harry cautiously.
Unlike the ghosts around them, Peeves the Poltergeist was the very reverse of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, a revolving bow tie, and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.
"Why'd Nick invite him anyway?" Ron wondered.
"Because it would have been rude not to Ronald," Mrs. Weasley reprimanded.
"Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.
"Be afraid." The twins and Remus said, looking at the book suspiciously. Peeves was never nice, unless he was about to do something very bad.
"No thanks," said Hermione.
"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves, his eyes dancing. "Rude you was about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed, "OY! MYRTLE!"
"Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset," Hermione whispered frantically. "I didn't mean it, I don't mind her - er, hello, Myrtle."
The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face Harry had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.
"What?" she said sulkily.
"How are you, Myrtle?" said Hermione in a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to see you out of the toilet."
"Miss Granger was just talking about you -" said Peeves slyly in Myrtle's ear. "Just saying-"
"Just saying - saying - how nice you look tonight," said Hermione, glaring at Peeves.
Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously.
"You're making fun of me," she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.
"No - honestly - didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" said Hermione, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs.
"Not much help are you?" Hermione huffed teasingly.
"Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. "D'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"
"You've forgotten pimply," Peeves hissed in her ear.
Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts, yelling, "Pimply! Pimply! "
"Oh, dear," said Hermione sadly.
"I wouldn't worry about it, Myrtle's always been that way," Remus said reassuringly.
"I'm sure I'm going to regret asking, but how do you know that?" Hermione asked.
"She fancied James, followed him around for a year, then when she realized he liked Lily, she started 'haunting' her, until Lily threatened to blow up her toilet."
Harry was taking all of this in with a big grin on his face, any opportunity he got to hear about his parents was worth it, even if it meant revealing some things.
Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward them through the crowd.
"Oh, yes," they lied.
"Not a bad turnout," said Nearly Headless Nick proudly.
"He believed you?" Neville asked, stopping his reading. "I mean no offense, but you three really aren't the greatest liars."
"Trust me, we were just as shocked." Harry laughed.
"The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent... It's nearly time for my speech, I'd better go and warn the orchestra..."
The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded.
"Oh, here we go," said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly.
Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; Harry started to clap, too, but stopped quickly at the sight of Nick's face.
The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn. The ghost leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd (everyone laughed), and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck.
"Nick!" he roared. "How are you? Head still hanging in there?"
He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nearly Headless Nick on the shoulder.
"Welcome, Patrick," said Nick stiffly.
"Wait. He invited the guy who rejected him?" Neville asked, clearly confused.
"I don't think he had a choice. Besides, he wanted to show off by having Harry there remember?" Hermione pointed out.
"Live uns!" said Sir Patrick, spotting Harry, Ron, and Hermione and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowd howled with laughter).
"Very amusing," said Nearly Headless Nick darkly.
"Don't mind Nick!" shouted Sir Patrick's head from the floor. "Still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say - look at the fellow-"
"I think," said Harry hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick's very - frightening and - er-"
"And there went conviction," Ron laughed.
"Ha!" yelled Sir Patrick's head."Bet he asked you to say that!"
"If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" said Nearly Headless Nick loudly, striding toward the podium and climbing into an icy blue spotlight.
"My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow..."
But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd was turning to watch. Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers.
"Poor Sir. Nicholas," Luna said sadly.
Harry was very cold by now, not to mention hungry.
"I can't stand much more of this," Ron muttered, his teeth chattering, as the orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto the dance floor.
"Let's go," Harry agreed.
They backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at them, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.
"Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully, leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall.
"Why do I have the feeling that you aren't going to the feast?" Remus said suddenly.
"Er…what gives you that idea?" Harry asked, stalling for time.
"Call it instinct, or paying attention to the worried looks these two," he gestured to Ron and Hermione, "Have been giving each other since the chapter started."
"Well…uh…let's just keep reading shall we?" Harry said, turning away from Remus' searching eyes. What else had the man noticed that Harry thought no one had?
And then Harry heard it.
"... rip... tear... kill..."
It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice he had heard in Lockhart's office.
He stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all his might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.
"Harry, what're you -?"
"It's that voice again - shut up a minute-"
"... soo hungry... for so long..."
"Listen!" said Harry urgently, and Ron and Hermione froze, watching him.
"... kill... time to kill..."
By this point, everyone in the room had paled considerably, but none more so than Ginny, who looked almost like a ghost herself.
"It's all right Ginny," Harry whispered in her ear.
"But it was all my fault," she mumbled back, her lips barely moving.
"No it wasn't, and it never will be," he told her as firmly as he could in a whisper.
The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away - moving upward. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped him as he stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upward? Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceilings didn't matter?
"This way," he shouted, and he began to run, up the stairs, into the entrance hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here, the babble of talk from the Halloween feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Ron and Hermione clattering behind him.
"Harry, what're we-"
Harry strained his ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter still, he heard the voice: "... I smell blood... I SMELL BLOOD!"
"What is it?" Remus asked fearfully but Harry just shook his head.
"You'll find out." Was all he said.
His stomach lurched-
"It's going to kill someone!" he shouted, and ignoring Ron's and Hermione's bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps - Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Ron and Hermione panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.
"Harry, what was that all about?" said Ron, wiping sweat off his face. "I couldn't hear anything..."
But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.
Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.
[*ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE
"What's that thing - hanging underneath?" said Ron, a slight quiver in his voice.
As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped - there was a large puddle of water on the floor; Ron and Hermione grabbed him, and they inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All three of them realized what it was at once, and leapt backward with a splash.
Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.
"Oh, so not good." Remus said, being the only one who hadn't known much about the attacks.
For a few seconds, they didn't move. Then Ron said, "Let's get out of here."
"Shouldn't we try and help -" Harry began awkwardly.
"Trust me," said Ron. "We don't want to be found here."
But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment, students were crashing into the passage from both ends.
The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.
"Not a good place to be," Remus mumbled to himself but his mind was racing.
Then someone shouted through the quiet.
"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"
It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat.
"That-that's it," Neville said as he held the book out, his hand shaking ever so slightly. "Who wants to read next?"
"Perhaps it would be easier if we went around in a circle Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore said kindly and Neville nodded before handed the book to Luna.
Remus wasn't paying attention to the conversation going on around him, he was thinking about all that he knew. The Chamber of Secrets…what was that myth? Something about Salazar Slytherin and his monster…something that only the heir could control…but what was it?